


Lord, Send Me A Mechanic (If I'm Not Beyond Repair)

by Theonenamedafterahat



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bitchie Ritchie get your fucking act together, Canonical Character Death, Like literally this is a death fic, M/M, and please find some chill, spoilers for season 2 i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:28:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theonenamedafterahat/pseuds/Theonenamedafterahat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I may have made mistakes, I am only mortal; I may have caused suffering, sometimes I could not see. But I tried my hardest, my intentions were good (you have to understand, my intentions were good), and at least I did something, at least I tried: why then should I regret?" Cardinal Richelieu, at the end of his days. (See Kyele, this is what happens when people [read: you] give me ideas).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord, Send Me A Mechanic (If I'm Not Beyond Repair)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).



> So I have wanted to write a Richelieu death-fic for a long time now…basically since the episode aired. And I got the inspiration for this from a very nice comment that Kyele left on a Richelieu fanmix I put together (http://timeforalongstory.tumblr.com/post/129300597135/bean-about-town-and-i-gave-my-heart-to-know). 
> 
> Title comes from "Psalms 40:2" by The Mountain Goats, which is a Richelieu song if I ever heard one.

 

_"I may have made mistakes, I am only mortal; I may have caused suffering, sometimes I could not see. But I tried my hardest, my intentions were good (you have to understand, my intentions were good), and at least I did something, at least I tried: why then should I regret?"_

 

 

 

 

The good thing about prayer, Richelieu reflects, is that it doesn't require much strength. While he has never had trouble finding the Lord in rich surroundings, in gilded gold cathedrals patronised by kings and queens, Richelieu can still remember the lessons he learnt from his mother, so long ago. He calls them to mind now, in the bed which doctors say he will never leave.

_Holy Father, hear my prayer..._ but how can he continue? In this at least, Richelieu must be truthful.

_I have done terrible things._

_I have lied._

_I have killed._

_I don't regret it._

A part of him will always yearn to answer the unasked question he has seen in so many faces. Is he really all he seems to be? Is the inhuman shell of cruelty he presents to the world really all there is? For so long Richelieu wished that were true. _I couldn't stand it, Father. My heart was too heavy for me to carry - surely you knew? I had to give it away. If you wanted me to keep it, why did you send me him?_

The Captain de Treville.

As a young man, Armand-Jean du Plessis de Richelieu had never intended to love another, much less fall in love. Indeed, how many times had he scorned foreign diplomats, politicians, even former lovers, who risked all in the name of love? Richelieu knew of certain alliences, of course, and respected them deeply. What could be more useful then two people sharing resources and defences against an uncaring world, for mutual protection and perhaps even companionship? As a politician Richelieu found this to be practical, even sensible. But to allow anything more to develop was insanity.

Then came Treville. 

_Do not think me ungrateful, Father. I am glad it was him. It was a gift to love him._

And Jean was able to protect Richelieu's heart for years without even knowing it. _If only you knew,_ Richelieu sometimes thinks, as Treville leaves his presence. But then... that would rather defeat the point.

Any man or woman could buy their love gifts; tokens of their affection. Some could perform acts of bravery, maybe rescuing their love from danger, or defeating an enemy. Richelieu never did anything. _I took everything good about myself Lord, and I gave it to him, and I never told him because I loved him._

Treville might have accepted his love, Richelieu thinks, half drunk on pain and exhaustion. It feels like his every breath has to be forced out, and the air he breathes in cuts his insides like broken glass.

There had always been signs. Nights when their arguments would bring them closer and closer together in his empty office, and Treville's hands were a hair's width away from Richelieu's body. Many times Richelieu has seen Treville's barely-concealed smiles in his direction (sometimes even at his expense). The few times they have been aligned in their purpose and goals, Richelieu found himself in a tactical dance he had never even imagined, yet knew the steps like he was born to it. In those moments everything in Richelieu yearned to press forward. He never did.

_I know this cannot balance the suffering I have caused... but I never told him._

Richelieu knows Treville better then the Captain knows him, after all. It would have broken that proud, honourable man. The man who did what he could to serve his country, then did more when it was asked of him. Captain Treville was never made for the shadows.

 

\---

 

 

The night is coming in fast over Paris. From the west, empty carts approach the Palais Cardinal. The business of states and monarchs never stops, even as great men die.

 

\---

 

Alone, at the end of his days, the great Cardinal de Richelieu is fading fast.

But there is still time, is there not? Captain Treville is healthy and able, and willing to come, if Richelieu's memory is not failing him now. He can send for him - why should the First Minister of France not call for the Captain of the King's Musketeers when on his deathbed? Clearly such a man would be regarded as a true patriot, thinking only of his love for France, even at the end.

Richelieu feels ten years younger, as he reaches for the bell to call a servant.

He can feel his fingers, when scant seconds ago they were numb - perhaps he is not as far gone as he thought? _Even the thought of you gives me strength, Captain._

But as Richelieu's hand connects with the cool metal, his fingers seize, and it falls to the floor. It might as well be a world away.

Richelieu curses his clumsiness, and the height of his bed from the floor, and the makers of bells, but all in utter silence. His once clever tongue has failed him at last. Richelieu can feel his heartbeating behind his eyes now, throbbing in time with the stabbing pain in his head. It's slowing. His eyes drift shut, and then nothing.

 

\----

 

From the main gates of the Palais Cardinal, a carriage departs for the Louvre. It is ornate, covered in gold filigree, enough to feed a poor Parisian family for a year. It is empty.

Two hours before this, servants watch as a cart leaves the back gates of the Palais Cardinal, heading in a westerly direction. It is not empty.

"Vamonos."

"Sí, Vargas."

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for my shitty spanish. Yeah no, Richelieu isn't really dead. I could never do that. What heartless people would ACTUALLY kill him off *eyes the BBC suspiciously*. Hmm, maybe there is more of this story to tell?


End file.
